Since the night of the Reichstag fire, Sara and her parents had seen Natan’s byline in theBerliner Tageblattseveral times, but Sara’s parents became increasingly worried when he did not come by the house or phone. When Amalie told them that he had canceled a night out with Wilhelm, apologizing and blaming the frenetic pace of his work, Sara decided to stop by his apartment after classes to check in. She would get dinner started, study until he came home, and catch up with him while they ate. She doubted he had enjoyed a nourishing meal or a good night’s sleep since the Reichstag burned.
On the night before the elections, Sara let herself in with the spare key, calling out her brother’s name as she opened the door. His apartment was dark and silent, the stale air suggesting that no one had crossed the threshold in days. She turned on the lights, picked up the mail that had collected on the rug after tumbling through the slot in the door, carried the groceries to the kitchen, and began washing and chopping vegetables.
Before long, she had soup simmering on the stove and had settled down at the kitchen table with her books and notes. It was difficult to focus as twilight descended and her brother still had not appeared, but eventually she became engrossed in her studies.
It was almost midnight when the door opened and her brother walked in, his hair and clothes disheveled, his lower lip cut and bleeding.
“Natan,” she exclaimed, bolting from her chair. “What happened?”
He let her take his satchel and help him out of his coat. “The police stopped me on my way home and took me in for questioning.”
Setting coat and bag aside, Sara cupped his chin in her hand and examined his split lip. “This is how police question people in Germany now? Did you tell them you were a journalist? Did you threaten to expose them in your paper?”
“That didn’t occur to me, but I don’t think it would have helped.”
“What did they want with you?”
“To find out whether I’m a Communist and if I have any information about who burned the Reichstagsgebäude.”
“How would you possibly know that?”
“They know I’ve written about strikes and protests and that I have contacts within the party. I suggested they check party membership rosters, and they acknowledged that they already had, and hadn’t found my name. I asked them if they considered theBerliner Tageblattto be a Communist newspaper, and they admitted that it wasn’t.” He touched his cut lip gingerly with the back of his hand. “It’s possible that they don’t really think I’m a Communist, but were just using that as an excuse to intimidate me. Either way, when I didn’t confess, they let me go with a warning.”
“Some warning.” Sara ushered him to the kitchen, where he wearily dropped into a seat as she fetched him a cool, damp cloth for his lip. “Maybe you should get out of town for a while, just until things settle down. You could stay at Schloss Federle.”
“If the Nazis want me, they won’t overlook my relatives’ homes, even if it means going all the way to Minden-Lübbecke. I won’t put Amalie, Wilhelm, and the girls in danger.” He shook his head, wincing in pain. “I’m not going anywhere before the election. Every vote counts, and I’m not letting those fascists intimidate me away from the polls, or from this story.”
On the morning of March 6, the Weitz family learned that despite the Nazi program of intimidation, their firm grip on the media, and the fact that the SA and SS had been assigned to monitor the voting, they had not crushed the opposition. Although the Communists had lost about a quarter of their seats, they had held on to 288. And while the Nazis had won five million more votes than in the previous election and had gained 92 seats in the Reichstag, they claimed just under 44 percent of the vote, which meant that they still lacked a majority in the legislature.
But the next day, the National Socialists announced that they had joined forces with the German National People’s Party, forming a coalition that comprised 52 percent of the Reichstag—a majority, albeit a narrow one.
In the days that followed, more Communists were arrested, taken from their homes and workplaces and held without charges in makeshift prisons hastily set up to accommodate the overflow. Natan assured his family that he was probably safe, since he had already been questioned, investigated, and released, but, ever cautious, he asked friends and neighbors to let him know if anyone came by asking questions or demanding to know his whereabouts.
On the evening of March 9, Sara’s mother summoned them all together for an unusual midweek family supper. The cook outdid herself, inspired by the homecoming of her darling Amalie and by the presence of Baron von Riechmann, whom she was certain was accustomed to and expected the finest delicacies, despite the many times Sara had assured her that Wilhelm was one of the most amiable, unpretentious people she knew.
Dinner conversation was relaxed and undemanding, in deference to the two young children at the table. Only afterward, as the adults sipped coffee at one end of the drawing room while the girls played with their dolls at the other, did talk turn to politics.
“The military does not support Hitler,” Wilhelm assured them emphatically. “The generals despise him, and many believe Hindenburg betrayed them by appointing Hitler chancellor. General Ludendorff accused him of handing over our sacred German homeland to a demagogue, and he predicted that unimaginable suffering will result. He declared that future generations would curse Hindenburg in his grave for this action.”
Sparing a glance for her granddaughters, Sara’s mother turned up the radio slightly so their conversation would not be overheard. “I hope the general’s prediction of suffering is wrong, but I’m terrified that it isn’t.”
“We may not be through the worst of it, but Hitler’s coalition will eventually fall apart,” Sara’s father insisted. “The Nazis can sow hatred and violence, but they cannot govern.”
Natan frowned. “They don’t have to be competent leaders to do a lot of damage with hatred and violence in a short amount of time.”
“Son, please,” his father said. “You’ll upset your mother.”
“Will you all stop worrying about upsetting me?” Sara’s mother exclaimed. “Of course I’m upset. I’d be a fool not to be.” She fixed her husband with a firm look. “My dear, I cannot agree with you that Hitler and his Nazis and these dreadful times are going to fade away like a bad dream if we’re simply watchful and patient. I believe we should be realistic and plan for the worst.” She inhaled deeply and squared her shoulders. “Perhaps we should consider emigrating.”
“I don’t want to leave Germany,” Sara broke in, thinking of the university, her study group, and Dieter.
“We won’t have to,” said her father. “The rabbis assure us that if we mind our own business and prove ourselves law-abiding citizens, the crisis will pass.”
Her mother sighed. “And so the discussion ends before it begins.”
“You won’t have to emigrate,” said Wilhelm, taking Amalie’s hand and looking around at everyone. “I’ll do everything in my power to protect the family. You must know that.”
“I know you mean well, Wilhelm, but what do you think you can do?” asked Natan. “Being married to a Christian might protect Amalie for a while, but she and the girls are still Jews, and—”
